


Rushed

by BECandCall



Series: 350 [11]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen Rutherford, Confident Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Teasing, War Table (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BECandCall/pseuds/BECandCall
Summary: The Inquisitor being late is certainly nothing new - she has so many demands on her time, after all. But Cullen being late? That's almost unprecedented. Could it be related?
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: 350 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1251002
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Rushed

**Author's Note:**

> Basically my version of this "imagine your OTP" prompt:   
> A: *enters room looking disheveled* Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff.   
> B: *enters after A, also disheveled and looking smug* I was stuff.

Cullen burst through the doors, full of apology and still smoothing his hair into place as he took position at the war table beside Josephine and Leliana. He was a half hour past the scheduled start time, which galled him, but it… couldn’t be helped. 

He was grateful any prying questions from his colleagues were forestalled by the Inquisitor’s arrival soon after. Her tardiness was a well-established pattern in Skyhold, and with so many demands on her time, she could hardly be blamed. If she looked more disheveled than normal… well, it was no business of theirs.

He caught the look exchanged between the other two before settling into business, but since no further comment was made, Cullen’s initial disquiet soon eased with the familiarity of work. Though he tried catching them out in their scrutiny, their eyes were always on the map or their notes - anywhere but on him. 

He did not dare meet Theresa’s - _the Inquisitor’s_ \- gaze. His composure was barely holding together as it was, and it would take very little provocation from her to break it. 

He brazened through as best he could, keeping his eyes on the map and running drills in his head. When at last the Inquisitor declared an end, he eagerly maneuvered for the door - but Leliana was already there. 

_Maker curse her bard-trained celerity,_ he thought, and braced himself. 

With a smile of cruel glee, she reached forward and delicately plucked something from the folds of his mantle, handing it to him. Without a word, she marched out the door arm in arm with Josephine, lyrical giggling trailing after them. Cullen’s face grew unbearably warm as he looked down at the pair of cotton smalls he held - a pair he recognized. 

“I believe those are mine,” Theresa said, her laughter joining the chorus. 

A wicked thought occurred, turning embarrassment into mischief, and a smile spread over his face.

“Come and get them,” he taunted, dangling them off one finger. “Unless you’d like them mounted on the chantry board?” 

The look on her face was well worth the electric shock he received.


End file.
